


A Socioptah's secret

by I_Love_Fandoms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Fear of Discovery, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Love_Fandoms/pseuds/I_Love_Fandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I imagine that Sherlock writes in a sort of own-made diary were he keeps his secrets writen down and hidden from John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Socioptah's secret

**Author's Note:**

> (I do not own Sherlock Holmes and make no money from this. I just did this during English class because we were supposed to write a story)

How much pain to I need to feel before it's "enough"? How long do I have to suffer until it ends? Is there even an end to it? Or is it infinitive just like human crulety? The only light I see nowadays are the lights from the screen on my phone, the computer screen, lamps, the sun. But they all seem very cold and hard, as if wanting to say that it's not for me. When the winter comes, the snow will reflect the moonlight, just for me. The stars will be visible and remind me of myself. In the days I'm there, but hidden. In the night I come out, becoming visible for those who cares enough to look. But unlike the stars and the moon, I don't shine. I'm barely visible in the light they're throwing on the snow. I'm merely a shadow compared to them, like they're a shadow of the sun. Their beauty always overwhelm me. I can never get used to it. Like they were created only for that purpouse, to stun people with their beauty.

Everyone I meet says that I'm an angel. What pityfull lies. There's not such things like angels. Nor am I one. If I had wings they would be broken and useless like the rest of me, except for my brain. Why can't they see it? Is it their usual blindness, like they're blind to how they affect others? Can it be that simple? Or is it just that they don't want to see? Or is it something else that I don't know, something that I don't understand? I guess these questions will remain unanswered for me, as everything else. There's no place for me here, I'm just another oxygen theif in this life. Why am I still alive? I cut myself sometimes just to make sure that I am, infact, human and nothing else. But I don't feel human. I feel as if I'm not supposed to be here, as if I was put here by mistake, or on purpouse to make me suffer.

Am I okay? Of course I'm not, but you can't see it, can you? Because I'm hiding it too well for you to notice. My walls that I've built are fooling you, making you believe that there's nothing wrong. Much like many people in my situation. You can't see my pain because I hide it well, behind sarcasm and quick, hurting replies. But if you knew, would you stay, or would you leave? Or maybe you would use it against me just like the rest. It's why I hide all my feelings and thoughts, to keep everyone out. Knowledge is power, the more they know about you the more they can use to hurt you. I thought you knew that, but you're just as much of an idiot like everyone else, never using the brain that you have in your head. It's probably the reason to why you haven't seen my pain, the reason to why you don't notice how much you affect me. A part of me want you to read this, but the more rational part knows that if you do, you will most likely run off or use it against me.

It's better this way. - Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> If John finds out about this "diary" is completely up to you. If you want to write a fanfic about this or a continuing story, please tell me, I'd like to read it :)


End file.
